ArtView May 2015 - Page 25

never tell me about—take her. When I pressed her about it once, all she said was: Death isn’t just a person dressed all in black, darl. It’s a place we’re each of us heading to. I’ve never understood that. But the words have always stuck with me: that she thinks death is a country with its own topography, horizon, stars and moons and planets, just like our own. In a flurry of bile and nerves, I dial. ‘My name is Avicenna Crowe,’ I tell the woman who answers, her voice crisp and emotionless. ‘I’d like to report a missing person please.’ 12 Lim_AstroDaughter_final.indd 12 4/06/2014 11:53 am